A fierce defender of democracy with the inconsistent underpinnings of an anarchist.

My students want to know if I’ll be voting Republican or Democrat.

I resist the urge to tell them that the petty squabbling of lifetime politicians and the combination of ignorance and apathy in the ruling portion of the American public has all but neutered the republic that our forefathers left us.

Besides, most of my students would hear this and still respond with something like, “Yeah, but are you a Democrat or Republican?”

I’m doing the best I can, but until I have a popular TV/internet channel (I’m thinking about calling it FreshTV), I can’t constantly bombard my students with a mixture of overt and subtle images that suggest that they attempt to think independently of what they see and hear on television and the internet.  This goal is of course self- defeating, as my viewership will rapidly decline as soon as my target audience gets the message.  You know what though?  I’ll happily shut down my business for that reason.

When dealing with government, there are a whole host of issues that spin into increasingly complex and ugly sub-topics.  To skirt that issue for now, I merely wish to say that my goal is to get my students to think.  I’m of course concerned with teaching them the correct material to ruminate over so that they can succeed academically.  Still, the private goal that is ever a splinter in my mind’s eye is teaching my students how to think, rather than trying to teach the students what to think.

 

Look out for those slanty-eyed bastards.

Have you seen this ad yet?

What a commercial.  I love the fear-mongering.  Even if the core message is trying to reduce the national debt and rampant government spending, it’s the fear of a foreign power taking control of U.S. independence that makes up the core of the ad.  As much as the Citizens Against Government Waste or CAGW is trying to promote a justifiable campaign, it’s approach is… well, let’s just say it’s lacking in taste.

Fundamentally, the fear mongering present in this ad repeats a message that’s been around almost as long as Chinese and other Asian immigrants have been coming to the United States.  That message is, “It’s not the national debt that’s the enemy, it’s unscrupulous slanty-eyed, white-woman-stealing foreigners that are the enemy.”

I have to be clear, I’m not overstating this.  There’s a long and sordid history involving opium trade, the Chinese and British, war, and the subsequent near-fetishization of opium harems.  These harems were almost invariably run by seedy Chinese men, who offered paying men all types of women, with the rare delicacy being the captured white-woman sex slave.  It’s kind of like Joe Francis of Girls Gone Wild fame, except no one turns a blind eye.  I hazard the guess that there are far more loveless white-couple marriages wherein white women are emotionally and physically abused than there ever were white women trapped in Chinese opium harems.

Anyway, if you want to know more, look up Opium War in Wikipedia.  Mind you, there were two, apparently the world powers of the time thought it was kind of important.  Putting aside opium, it’s important to note there’s long been the fear of Asians taking over good American jobs.  In more recent years, that fear has soared due to the fact that China holds a rather unsettling amount of the United States’ national debt.  Furthermore, many U.S. business interests are tied up in Chinese markets, and the semi-volatile political nature of our trade partners across the sea makes a lot of investors nervous.  It also makes me want to bang my head against a wall, as the people that put those business interests in China were the predecessors of those nervous investors.  Oh, and we’re still doing it.  So, kudos America.

Now, you have to understand that being of the slanty-persuasion myself tends to (ahem) color my view a bit.  Understand that the last thing I want to see is this great country fall under sway of a foreign power.  I like my personal freedoms and non-MSG laden foods too much to want otherwise.  At the same time, I see ads like this one by the CAGW and I can’t help but see a perpetuation of outdated racial stereotypes.  Fear is an excellent motivator.  It is also wantonly destructive if used improperly.  Having a single, readily identifiable people attached to your fear message?  That sounds somewhat familar. Even the title of the video, “Chinese Professor” bears the banner of scary foreign imperialism, while in the video evokes scary, Orwellian imagery and Chinese flags super-imposed over American iconography.  They took our jobs, they took our well-being.  Hell, at 39 seconds in, they even took our iPads.  The nerve!

I’m not saying the CAGW is an allegory for Nazi Germany.  I am saying that their message needs a less backwater approach.  It comes off as ignorant and in poor taste.

It’s almost like the CAGW is saying, “What kind of debase, opportunistic people would take advantage of another country’s economic weakness?”  Well, China certainly does come to mind.  Odd thing though, so does America.  We do have a history of it after all.  Let’s get a little less shocked and a little more proactive.  I’m not an economist, I like history.  Generally speaking, if I have a question about good ways to proactively fix the national debt in a timely and efficient manner, I’d ask one of my friends that are economists.  What I do know is that mixed messages like this do little to engender a  sense of mutual respect for Americans in the eyes of our foreign neighbors, and it’s high time we start acting like responsible adults, instead of promoting childish, fear-the-dark mentalities.

~Shortfold

 

Fun with science and Portal 2

Dear readers,

Whether you’re into video games or just have a passing interest in them, I strongly suggest that you swing by your local game retailer and pick up a copy of Portal 2.  Fun, imaginative, and quirky, the game reminds me why I choose this medium as a recreational outlet.

I love this image. And I love my Companion Cube. D'aww.

In case you’ve been hiding under a rock and someone hasn’t mentioned companion cubes, cakes being lies, or a little song called “Still Alive”, all of these memes are thanks to the brilliance that was Portal.  Portal was developed more as a low-budget indie game that got packaged into Valve’s game compilation The Orange Box.

I could go on about the awesomeness of The Orange Box as well, but I think I’ll save that for another post.  Anyways, Portal puts you in the long-fall boots of a silent female protagonist named “Chell”.  Chell is subjected to a series of tests involving bending reality using a portal gun, which allows the player to place two portals, one being colored orange, while the other is blue.  These portals are directly linked to each other, allowing the player to manipulate distance in fascinating ways to solve the tests Chell is placed in.

Overseeing all of the tests is a megalomaniac, homicidal, artificial intelligence named GLaDOS.  “She” acts as antagonist and more or less the only “person” you get to interact with in the game.  This creates an odd bond between you and the machine, and the game developers play on this through witty dialogue and excellent scripting.

In Portal 2, this guy'll talk enough for the both you.

All the events in Portal the First lead to Portal 2, in which you reprise your role as Chell and make a second mad dash through the Aperture Science Laboratories in a second bid for freedom.  As the first Portal has been out some time, I didn’t feel like I was spoiling too much with my previous recap, but since Portal 2 just came out I’ll pretty much leave the explanation of the plot as it is.

Suffice to say, the game is amazing and the added budget by Valve definitely shows in the level of detail and scope of the game.  Like its predecessor, Portal 2 is a fairly short game, and I believe I finished the game in about six or seven hours.  Honestly, the game will likely go even faster for those people who are better spatial thinkers.  That makes for kind of a short game, but considering that the game wasn’t released at regular market value (read: less than the standard $60), the reduced price of the game combined with multiplayer options puts the overall replayability at somewhere between moderate to high.  This is also taking into account that Valve will undoubtedly release expansion maps and puzzles that will increase the worth of having the game.

Furthermore, the game is just plain fun and it surprised me how many times I got done with a section with either a grin on my face due to the humor or a deep sense of satisfaction for completing a test.  Or both.  It’s not everyday that you see this kind of quality in games.  And, since I’m all for the validation of video games as a viable media, I’d say that it’s rare to see this kind of quality in movies these days as well.

Let’s be honest, I love movies, so I’m not knocking the movie biz as a whole.  I’m just saying that when you have a game that utilizes excellent mechanics, intelligent game design, and tight, compelling narrative, it makes for a wonderful experience.  Now, jam out to some Portal music while you go and get Portal 2.  Or, download it from Steam if you have a PC that can run it.  Oh, and remember not to look directly into the operational end of the device.

~Shortfold

 

The Alphabet Suit War Part 16: “Extraction”

A rather large mosquito takes a bite out of my ear as it whines past.  Instinctively, I swat it away, but my hand merely comes back with a light coating of my own blood.  Not a mosquito then, but a bullet.  And now I’m probably missing the top of my left ear.  Fantastic. 

The jungle is a green blur as I race through the trees.  The afterglow of the Overdrive Protocol is still warm in my veins, but fatigue and pain are rapidly returning with a vengeance.  At this point, I’m running more on anger, fear, and adrenaline than any sort of Suit-aided system. 

More bullets punch through the forest.  And from somewhere behind me, the methodical chugging sound of a heavy machine gun opens up.  Several trees to my right splinter at about chest level as the heavy rounds smash into them.  The bullets start tracking my way.  I kick off with my left foot and arc up and over the bullets as the machine gun’s line of fire tracks left of me.  I continue sprinting as I land, kicking up tufts of foliage and dirt with each leaping stride.

“November, this is Echo!  I’m inbound with a whole shitstorm dropping on me.  Where are you?”  For a very long moment the only sound is my breathing, the crunch of my shoes on the jungle terrain, and the yells of SCAR troops  from seemingly every direction.  Then, November’s voice comes in through a burst of static.

“Got problems of our own, Echo.  I’m sending you our location and patching you through to the pilot.”  There’s an audible click and then a noticeable hum of feedback from the pilot’s less advanced com system.  A woman’s cool voice crackles in my ears.

“Echo, this is Felicity.  The LZ got too hot, we had to pull out.  Radar says we have enemy Helos inbound and I’ve got too many troops on board to risk toe-to-toeing with them.”

Enemy Helos.  Helicopters.  I heft the massive anti-tank rifle I liberated from Sigma.  November’s location is represented as a small triangle with a pulsing circle around it.  It’s moving at high speed to the south, and according to my GPS, into a series of wooded valleys.  She must be trying to lose the attacking helicopters in the valleys.  I cue my mic.

“Felicity, I think I see what you’re planning.  If you can draw the enemy helos into the valley at these coordinates, I should be able to get you clear.  After that, swing as close as you can to the ridge northeast of that position.  I’ll take care of the rest.”

There’s a brief pause as Felicity checks the coordinates I sent her from my Suit.  “Roger.  Good luck, Echo.”

“Same, Felicity.”  I click off my mic and push my Suit as fast as it will go.  The odometer reads nearly ninety miles an hour.  Even so, the timing’s going to be tight.  By tracking November’s Suit location on my HUD, I can see that Felicity has just entered the first valley.  As I watch, I notice November’s icon weave from side to side as it speeds down the valley.  Felicity must be taking evasive maneuvers.  I kick off harder and my breath starts coming in ragged gasps as the odometer creeps towards the mid-nineties.

Felicity is almost on top of the coordinates I gave her by the time I reach it.  I burst free of the tree line and skid across the rocky terrain as I try to kill my momentum.  Keeping the anti-tank rifle clear with my right arm, I dig my left hand into the earth as an added anchor.  I skid to a stop. My breathing’s still ragged, but there’s no time to try and catch my breath.  Felicity’s transport helicopter swerves up and to my right, close enough for me to see November strapped in behind the aft minigun. 

My attention is drawn away from the helicopter to the half-dozen rockets streaming through the air she had just occupied.  Three enemy Helos are hot on Felicity’s tail and filling the air with bullets and rockets.  The hillside I’m on erupts in huge pillars of flame and rock as the rockets and bullets punch into the hillside.  I snap the rifle up as the earth around me jumps and crumbles.

I narrow my focus.  The sunlight is above and behind me, giving me clear view of the three helos chasing Felicity, while partially blinding the pilots chasing her.  They likely don’t even know I’m on the hillside.  My breath’s still ragged from exhaustion and exertion, so I’ll have to take the shots between breaths.  I narrow my focus, take a breath, raggedly exhale and hold it.

My first round takes the lead Helo in the cockpit and a crimson explosion confirms that the pilot is in fact quite dead.  In addition, the round punches out the back of the helicopter and sets one of the engines on fire. The second shot shears off the mast of the second-closest helo, sending the blades shearing through the air, where they slam into the trailing third helicopter.  My third shot catches the last helicopter in the aft rotor and the combined damage it sustains causes it to tumble uncontrollably to the earth.  While I would appreciate the chance to revel in three incredibly skilled shots, the tangle of steel careening towards the hillside I’m on makes me postpone my victory dance.  The first helicopter slams into the hillside mere yards behind me, and the other two follow suit.  Several rockets detonate within the combined wreckage and throw me forward as I sprint towards the ridge I told Felicity to meet me at.

My Suit’s audio sensors pick up a loud whirling sound coming from behind me and I toss myself down and to the side.  The remnants of the second Helo’s blades whip past me and slam into a nearby pile of rocks where it finally comes to a rest.  I pick myself up and take off into a sprint again.

The ridge looms ahead as I sprint across the rocky terrain.  The sound of SCAR forces moving through the trees towards my position gets louder as the first wave clears the treeline.  While some are momentarily stunned by the sight of the downed helos, several notice my rapidly retreating form and open fire.  The rocky terrain helps, as I dodge from cover to cover.  More SCAR soldiers stream out of the jungle and start sending bullets my way.  It’s not going to be long before they start bringing up heavier weapons. 

I dodge to the last bit of cover between me and the edge of the ridge.  I slap a new magazine into the rifle.  Hey, at least I’ve started to catch my breath.  I pop out of cover briefly and snap a shot off at the nearest cluster of rocks hiding SCAR soldiers.  The round punches into and through several feet of granite and minces a handful of SCAR soldiers on the other side.  I let out an appreciative whistle as I duck back down behind cover.  I spare a glance at the empty ridge line.  Come on guys, don’t let me down.

As I look, the nose of a heavy transport helicopter rises over the cliff face.  Painted across the left side of the cockpit is an old World War II style pinup in a slinky red dress.  The pin-up is holding a smoking pistol and the words “Always true” are scrawled across the painting.  The helicopter’s rocket pods come alive and a dozen contrails of smoke flash overhead and tear apart the SCAR forces massing down the ridge.  Even more are streaming out of the jungle to take their place, but for the moment they’re still dazed by the sudden attack.  Felicity’s voice crackles over my comm system.

“Hello, Echo.  Looks like you could use a lift.”

Felicity turns the helicopter so that the aft is facing me.  As it completes its turn, November opens fire down the ridge from her position at the aft minigun.  Several Marines assist her in layout down suppressing fire from the edge of the ramp as I sprint the dozen or so yards between me and the edge of the ridge.  I leap the last ten or fifteen feet of empty space separating me from the edge of ramp.  I clear it easily, and spin with my newly acquired rifle.  November’s voice is barely audible over the sound of gunfire and the ping of rounds smacking against the transport, but she comes in loud and clear in my comm system.

“Full house, Felicity.  Get us out of here!”

The helo’s nose dips down and we drop out of line of sight of the ridge line as Felicity picks up speed and spirits us away from the SCAR forces.

I slump to the deck of the transport as the aft ramp cycles closed.  A strong hand closes around my left shoulder, and I look up to see November looking down at me.  She nods once and gives my shoulder a firm squeeze before moving on to the cockpit.  Wearily, I drag myself to my feet and follow her.

I’m coated in mud, gore, sweat, and not an inconsiderable amount of my own blood.  Still, I can’t help but notice one very important thing.  Felicity is a babe.  Even her flight helmet looks good on her, and those things are specifically designed to make you look like a bobblehead figurine.

“Uh.  Hi.”  All smoothness, good job Echo.  I hear a small snort of laughter and glance over at November.  She’s as impassive as ever and looking over the flight controls.  Must’ve been my imagination.

“Hey yourself.  Echo, right?  The name’s Olivia, I’m your jock for the day.”  Olivia extends her right hand behind and over her head, making sure to keep her left hand and eye on the terrain.  I take the offered hand and shake it as best I can from the awkward angle.  If her name’s Olivia, then that must mean her call sign is Felicity.  Makes sense now, when I match that with the pin-up on the nose of the helicopter.  Outside, I see that land has given way to the deep blue of rolling ocean waves.  In the distance, I can see a speck of metal that my Suit’s visual enhancers identify as the U.S.S. Valiant.  Nice name for a carrier.

“Sorry for the lack of hospitality, but you have to understand how hard it is to get these boys into a stewardess’ outfit.”  Olivia’s got humor on her side.  That, and she’s obviously a hell of a pilot.  November cuts in before I gain any semblance of composure.

“Just get us home, Felicity.”

“Roger that.  Mother, this is Felicity.  I’m at bingo fuel and requesting permission to land.”  There’s a brief pause as the Valiant acknowledges her request.  After a few seconds, a man’s voice crackles over the cockpit radio.

“Felicity, this is Valiant, you are clear for landing.  Welcome home.”

End Section 1, Part 16.

——————————

I hope you all have enjoyed The Alphabet Suit War as much as I have!  There’s certainly more to the story, but this is a good stopping point for now and I’m likely to start in on a few other story ideas I’ve been mulling over.

~Shortfold

 

The Alphabet Suit War Part 15: “Sigma”

The jungle speeds past as I tear through the brush, trying to close on Charlie’s killer before he has a chance to slip away.  I’m exhausted and my recent injuries are aching again, but I do my best to ignore it.

Some subtle shift in my senses make me toss myself to the side.  As I do, the the air explodes with a deafening report, and the air ripples around me as a massive anti-tank round punches through the space I had just occupied.  The force of its passing is strong enough to spin me around, even though the bullet itself didn’t touch me.  I hear the armor reinforcements in my Suit buckle in protest, but it holds and I tumble to a stop behind a large tree.

The world seems to pause for a moment, and then a strong, calm voice sounds through the jungle trees.  “I’m not accustomed to missing.  Either you’re very lucky or very skilled.  It will be interesting to see which.”

I bolt from my cover again, just as another round punches into the backside of the four foot thick tree trunk and explodes out on my side in a shower of six-inch splinters.  I tumble into another patch of cover, this time amidst a jumble of rocks and tree branches.

Again, that strong, confident voice echoes through the trees.  “Tsk.  That’s a record number of misses for me.  Well, I’ve always hated the fact that most of my targets don’t even know that it’s I who’ve killed them.  Let me just say that it is my sincere pleasure to have met you.  You may call me Sigma.  Now make your peace,  I will not miss again.”

Sigma, eh?  Greek-based alphabet.  Cute.  I wonder if all the SCAR Suits have nicknames like we do, or just a few.  Based on the trajectory of the bullets, I think I have a fix on the shooter’s location.  As I prepare to move to the next spot of cover, the sound of cracking wood catches my attention.  The tree I dodged from behind is splitting at its base and falling over.  Damn, that’s a dangerous gun.  I bolt from cover and raise my rifle.  As I do, the report of Sigma’s rifle blasts through the jungle.

The round from the anti-tank rifle misses me, but just barely.  Instead, it blasts apart my rifle and passes inches from my chest.  Shrapnel flies everywhere and I feel a nasty sting as a particularly large piece of my rifle tears a gash under my right eye.  The power of the round’s passing buckles the armor in my Suit and spins me around.  I use my momentum to tumble behind another tree.  The jungle is quiet again, save for the snapping of leaves as the first tree I took cover behind topples to the ground.  The ground shakes with the impact, and I bolt from cover as it hits.

I move from cover in time to see a flash of motion from the general direction of the shooter.  Just as I had suspected, he was using the noise of the falling tree to displace and find a new shooting spot.  My pistol springs free of its vest holster and I give chase at forty miles an hour.

Sigma spins in mid run and snaps a shot off at me.  I hit the deck and slide feet-first beneath his line of fire, while snapping off two shots with my pistol.  Both go wide, but he spins and speeds off again.  I slide into a large tree root and there’s a loud crunch of wood as I use the root and my momentum to pop up from my slide.  In the blink of an eye, I’m back on my feet and giving chase again.

I trade a few more shots with Sigma and I’m starting to gain on him when he suddenly kills his momentum and spins around, taking a knee.  Shit.  I toss myself to the right as Sigma takes a much more deliberate shot.

He doesn’t hit me.  Not quite.  But the bullet passes closer than any of the others, grazing the outside of my left hip.  The force of it causes the armor in my left leg to fracture and fail.  The pain is excruciating and my left leg goes numb from the knee down.  The warmth of my own blood starts to seep about in my armor as my Suit’s med-systems kick in to try and limit blood loss.  I use my right leg to kick myself further into cover, behind a group of boulders.

A round punches into and through one of the boulders to my right.  The round turns four feet of rock into gravel and dust, and the top of the boulder caves in on itself as cracks spread through it.  Sigma’s voice sounds calm as he reloads and addresses me from the other side of the boulders.

“Ah, the inevitable is upon us.  This has been an exhilarating fight, I assure you, but even you must see that this can only end one way now.”  Sigma’s voice drones on, but I push his voice to the background as my comm array comes alive.

“Echo!  This is November.  Evac is here and SCAR forces are overrunning our defensive positions!  I’ll hold the last transport as long as I can, but we’re leaving in sixty seconds, with or without you!”

Shit.  I try to stand, but my left leg’s just not cooperating.  Three minutes to cross about two miles filled with hostiles.  It would be tough even if I weren’t exhausted and my leg didn’t feel like someone had beaten it repeatedly with a sledgehammer.  That, and that asshole with the rifle still hasn’t shut up.

“Hey Sigma,” I interrupt.  He pauses momentarily to listen.  “I’m only going to do this once.  So try and pay attention.”

The world goes golden as the Overdrive Protocol initiates.  The pain in my leg disappears and I stand.  Sigma is still crouched about fifty feet away, his rifle trained on my chest.  The surprise is plain on his face.  He recovers from his shock almost instantly, but for me, the pause is plenty of time.  The rifle round punches through the air, but I’m long gone before it gets there.

Sigma’s eyes widen in surprise as he shifts to track my movement.  I can see his finger tighten on the trigger and I easily make my way clear of his line of fire before the next bullet leaves the rifle.  My left hand grabs hold of Sigma’s rifle and tears it from his grasp.  My right hand swings forward and punches the end of my pistol into Sigma’s sternum.  The end of the pistol cracks from the impact, but I feel the armor in Sigma’s chest buckle with the impact.  I pull the trigger.

My pistol explodes in my hand, but most of the force punches into and through Sigma’s armor.  He gasps and falls over.  He tries to scream but the shrapnel punctured at least one of his lungs and all he manages is a wet gurgle.

“Echo, if you’re out there, move your ass!”  November’s yell comes through loud and clear on my comm system.

SCAR soldiers are flooding into the ruined area where Sigma and I had been fighting.  Bullets start zinging past me and I rip Sigma’s ammo pack free of his Suit.  I tear off, leaving Sigma to drown in his own juices.

End Part 15.

 

The Alphabet Suit War Part 14: “Last wish”

The attack began and ended with sudden swiftness.  As the last shell casing clattered to the jungle floor, over two dozen SCAR soldiers lay dead or dying and only a few Marines were injured, although two, Jasper and Howard, lay dead.  Captain Graves had lost men before, but it never stopped meaning something to him.  Still, losses were slight and there was a battle to fight.

“Strip the bodies of ammo and weapons, we’re moving out.”  Some of the vets were already at it, and the fresher Marines hopped to it.

Sergeant Ortega makes his way to Captain Graves as he is collecting Jasper and Howard’s dog tags.  Ortega had been sent as a scout and finally made his way back from further in the jungle.  Following Captain Grave’s personal orders, Ortega refrains from saluting Captain Graves.

“Sir, I spotted groups of SCAR soldiers heading this way from the west.  Each group is at least dozen-strength, with more ranging behind.”

The brush parts to the northeast and Private Ross sprints to join Ortega next to Captain Graves. Coughing, Ross doubles over, trying to catch his breath.

“Sir!  We got enemy armor!  Three APCs supported by two tanks.  Looks to be those new Model 10′s.”

If Captain Graves is dismayed by the news, he hides it well.  His response is immediate.

“Sergeant Ortega, take Ross, Stevens, and Emerson.  Collect the AT4s and setup southeast.  Lance Corporal Thompson, take Jules, Smith, and Capshaw, and support Ortega.  Lieutenant Becker, gather the rest and make a squad.  Private Ross, get the wounded out of here.”

At this, each of the wounded Marines snap their heads up.  The Texan, Avery by name, speaks up.  “Sir, we can still fight, sir.”

A surge of pride courses through Captain Graves and he acknowledges Avery’s bravery with a nod.  “I know you can, and you’re going to have plenty of SCAR to fight on the way back to base.  Good luck, Marines.”  Turning to the rest of his Marines, Captain Graves squares his shoulders and hefts his rifle.  “Move out.”

The morning sun sifts through the jungle leaves and the jungle is unnaturally quiet.  Graves trusted Staff Sergeant Mallory to keep the base together, but he hated that he couldn’t be back at the base, protecting the men and women under his command.  The SCAR’s attack had come almost as a complete surprise, due to the enemy Suits taking out the forward scouts before they even knew they were in danger.  Thankfully for Graves, Charlie had an outlying sensor net linked up to her Suit, and was able to get him out of his tent before the attack started.  After that, nearly a hundred SCARs flooded out of the jungle, with several enemy Suits supporting them.

Bravo, Charlie, and Delta had taken on the enemy Suits, while Graves had rallied the Marines.  Despite their best efforts however, they had been pushed back, and separated from the rest of the base.  With the main force of SCARs tied up at the center of the base, Graves had decided to launch a counter attack, to try and slow down enemy forces long enough for evac to arrive.  He had seen Delta take out an enemy Suit by himself by smashing a claymore mine into his opponent’s chest.  The resulting explosion looked to have killed Delta as well, but Graves hadn’t had time to check.  Bravo and Charlie had worked together and had taken down two enemy Suits by using superior teamwork, but both had sustained serious injuries and Bravo would likely lose his left arm when all things were said and done.

Gunfire and shouting erupts somewhere up ahead, and then silence returns, letting Graves know that Bravo and Charlie are still out there, helping where they can.  As the shouts and gunfire fade, Graves notices a slight tremor in the earth.  The tanks are on their way.

Sergeant Ortega splits left, while Lance Corporal Thompson take the center position, where they can support Ortega with rifle fire.  Lieutenant Becker swings right and sets up his squad of nine Marines behind a group of waist-high boulders.

The clink of packs and clack of weapons being checked one final time sounds loud in the sudden stillness of the jungle.  The sound of the tanks and cracking trees sounds loud in the still air, and the growing heat of the morning makes sweat stick to the skin and cling to the shirt and several of the Marines pull unconsciously at their shirts or shrug their shoulders to try and get their undershirts to sit more comfortably.

Now the tanks are visible, and the cracking sound they make as they tread over smaller trees and downed branches sounds deafening in the jungle.  The tanks crunch inexorably forward, and now some of the SCAR soldiers are close enough to make out individual features.  Still, Graves holds his position with Thompson’s team.

A man in a dark brown Suit is striding near the forward-most tank, a heavy machine gun cradled in his arms.  Graves motions to Thompson and Thompson inches closer to Graves from behind the fallen tree they are using as cover.

“Thompson, you’re one of our best shots.  Do you think you can drop the Suit with the machine gun?”

Thompson peers over the log at the advancing Suit.  “Yeah, if he doesn’t see it coming, I think I can get him.”

Graves nods.  “Take the shot, we go after.”

Lance Corporal Thompson slides under the log and enters a prone firing position.  A bead of sweat slowly slides down the side of his face and hangs from the tip of his chin.  The bead of sweat falls from his chin.  The Suit is maybe two hundred feet away when he takes the shot.  The Suit’s head snaps back and a spatter of gore paints the front of the tank behind him.

“NOW!”  Graves yells, and snaps his rifle over the downed tree.  The Marines open fire, and Ortega’s men sight in on the tanks with their anti-tank weapons.  The air compresses behind and around Ortega’s team as three AT4 rounds punch through the air and kick through the hull of one of the tanks and an APC.  The APC bursts into a raging gout of flame and the tank crunches to a stop, its crew destroyed by the AT4 round’s ability to punch through armor and detonate inside the tank.

The turret on the second tank swivels towards the Marines and opens fire.  In addition, several figures blur past the tank and toward Captain Graves and his Marines.  One of the blurs stops briefly, showing a man in a navy blue Suit carrying a grenade launcher.  He sights in on Captain Grave’s position and squeezes the trigger.

The round fires harmlessly into the air, as Echo smashes feet first on top of the unsuspecting Suit.  Echo dispatches the Suit with a quick burst from his rifle, than snatches up the grenade launcher.  He disappears in a blur of motion, although the distinct thunk of launching grenades can be heard between the bursts of gunfire.  The grenades burst into clusters of SCAR forces, sending equipment and streams of gore in all directions.  Echo blurs, and he disappears into the jungle, screams and explosions following in his wake.

The gun on the remaining tank suddenly goes silent as Bravo climbs out of the hole where the top hatch used to be.  Blood is seeping heavily around the armpit of his left arm, yet he manages to tap a series of buttons on the panel set in the left arm of his Suit.  He leaps free of the tank and disappears into the jungle as it lurches to life.  This time however, the turret swivels towards the nearest SCAR personnel carrier and opens fire.  The round punches through the APC and turns its occupants into bloody, flaming smears.

Silhouetted by the burning tank and APCs are the figures of two women, locked in deadly hand to hand combat.  One is brunette, and is sporting two broken metal wings.  The other woman’s red hair whips around as she desperately struggles to keep the brunette’s combat knife from reaching her throat.  The redhead twists her hips and her foe, suddenly overbalanced, is thrown over the redhead’s shoulder.  The redhead chops hard at the joints the brunette’s arms, causing them to buckle.  Using her leverage, the redhead leans down on the brunette’s arms and drives the knife into the brunette’s throat.  The brunette kicks once, then lies still.

Charlie gasps from the exertion of fighting the woman and tries to force the pain of her compounded injuries aside.  She’s preparing to stand when her heads up display flashes.  Her pupils dilate in sudden fear.

In a tree half a mile away, a man in a black Suit aims down the barrel of a high-caliber anti-tank rifle.  In his crosshairs, a redheaded woman is putting down that insufferable brunette.  A moment of regret, for not being able to thank the redhead for killing his commander, but that’s just how the egg breaks or so his mother would say.  His finger tightens on the trigger.

The last round is launching out of the six-cylinder grenade launcher when Echo’s heads up display flashes and a three dimensional image of the battlefield flashes in front of his eyes.  Charlie is feeding him a direct link from her command suite.  The scan focuses in on a point northwest of the battlefield.  It shows the hazy image of a man with a massive rifle.

As he watches, the rifle fires and a massive gout of flame rushes from the end of the barrel and suddenly the feed goes dark.  Echo understands well enough what that means.  The grips of the grenade launcher crumble as his gloved hands tighten.  Tossing the ruined weapon aside, he heads in the direction of Charlie’s killer.

End Part 14.

 

The Alphabet Suit War 13: “Gunfight”

Running along the beach, I suddenly recall the words of my old drill sergeant.

“War is noise, son.  Screams, explosions, yelling, crying.  All the noise of humanity thrown into a blender with about the same kind of messy results.  The trick is to filter it, distill what’s important and separate it from the chaff.  You do that, you’ll hear your enemies coming from a mile away.  Do that, and you’ll be able to assess any situation and know where you need to be.”  Or something along those lines, I might be paraphrasing.  I wonder whatever happened to old Sergeant Houston.  He must be pushing sixty by now.

A nearby explosion breaks my reverie and kicks sand into the air, where it pelts my Suit and stings the skin on my face.  The old sergeant was right about the noise of war, and I try to focus my senses outward and pick out the relevant facts from the cacophony.

“Where is the Captain?!”

“His tent was one of the first things to go, we don’t know where he is!”

“Oh god, it hurts!

“Get me clean bandages and a fresh medical kit, go!

“Come on you bastards!”

“Alpha is taking a squad northeast to hold the northern edge of the beach!”

“Jesus, help me!  There’s blood everywhere!”

“What’s the status of the south flank?”

“Sir, it’s fubar over there.  Last we heard Charlie and Delta were up to their necks in SCAR forces and those damn enemy Suits.”

“I’m out, toss me a clip!”

“I got a line through… Evac is still ten minutes out, we have to hold ’till then!”

“Are you shitting me?!  We’re not going to going to last two minutes out here.”

November steps up to a group of Marines hunkered behind a makeshift barricade of sandbags and storage crates.

“We’ll hold.  What’s your name, Marine?”

“Thompson, sir!  Part of Thunder Squad.”

“Thompson, you and your men are with me.  We are holding this stretch of beach.  Juliet, escort the injured from the field hospital to the evac site.  Foxtrot, support me here.”

Juliet sprints off, tearing up small fountains of sand with each leaping stride.  November takes an assault rifle from a nearby Marine and tosses it to me.  She looks at me and glances to to the south.  I nod and kick off, sending miniature explosions of sand up with each of my steps.

SCAR forces are streaming out of the jungle and onto the beach.  The makeshift fortifications spread along the beachhead are holding for the moment, but a steady stream of RPG fire and heavy arms fire is withering the defensive emplacements.  Explosions rock the beachhead and more than once the sound of bullets smashing through the air sounds uncomfortably close to my head.

The southern edge of the camp is half a mile away from November’s position, I’m there in seconds and it’s as bad as I feared.  The ground is pocked with craters from artillery fire and the ground is strewn with shattered equipment and pieces of soldiers.  A slight hill has one of our heavy machine gun emplacements.  It is thundering out a loud challenge to the SCAR soldiers streaming their way out of the jungle.  The gun is firing in short, controlled bursts and as I approach, I see that one of the Suits is manning it.  I also see he’s missing most of his face.  Several holes have been blasted through the sandbags surrounding the machine gun, and the Suit has thrown a mix of Marine and SCAR bodies over the failing sandbags to reinforce the emplacement.

I throw myself into a crater below the heavy machine gun emplacement and start taking shots at SCAR soldiers.  Short controlled bursts, and enemy soldier after enemy soldier fall.  Several try to lay down suppressive fire, but the thundering fire from the heavy machine gun overhead is keeping them from pinning me down.  I burst from cover as my rifle clicks dry and grab another rifle from a fallen comrade’s body while rolling into the nearest crater.  I run through the rifle’s clip and fish around in a dead Marine’s kit until I pull out a handful of extra clips.

A wheezing cough crackles over my comm system.  “Glad you could make it.”  The machine gun belts out another roar, and more SCAR forces wither under a hail of bullets.  “Captain Graves took a sortie force into…” a hacking wheeze, “…into the jungle to slow down the main force.”

I look at the tangle of Marines and SCARs strewn about the beachhead.  “Jesus, you mean this isn’t the main force?”

A spittle-flecked laugh, “Hell no.  Best we figure it, there’s hundreds of them out there.  I took down one of their…” another ugly cough, “…their guys, but he got me good too.  Need you to go after the Cap’n.  Bravo and Charlie went with him, but those enemy Suits are tough.”

By process of elimination, I now know that the wounded Suit is Delta.  Delta breaks down into a wheezing, gargling, cough that I can hear even though he was thoughtful enough to kill his mic.  A handful of Marines have made their way to our position and are helping set up defenses again on the south flank.

“I’m, I’m about done in.  Get the Cap’n.  Bring him back.  We’ll hold this line as long as we can.”

The southern flank has quieted down for the moment, and the SCARs seem reluctant to push out on this section of the beach.  November told me to head south and help, which I’ve done.  Even though Delta doesn’t have rank on me, his request follows my intent perfectly.  Get the Captain.  Bring him back.  I reload my rifle and tear off into the treeline.

End Part 13.

 

The Alphabet Suit War Part 12: “Revelations”

Ghostly light flickers over the Captain’s face in the dark of his command tent.  Video taken from Gray Suit’s on-board recorder plays backwards at high speed, showing us what Gray Suit had seen and heard in a weird reverse chronology.  The feed starts off with static and suddenly my face is in frame, and I’m shoving a blade repeatedly into a spot slightly above the camera’s view.  The video winds back further and shows him setting up his ambush.  Further still and we see the inside of the SCAR base.  The rewind speed slows down until it finally stops with the frame centered on a sharply dressed Caucasian male.  A sharp hiss escapes from Captain Graves.

“General Wright.  You son of whore.”

I’d met General Wright briefly and only once during my induction into the SUIT Program.  Even so, the General is the kind of man you remember for his steely gaze and implacable aura.  And now, we have before us indisputable proof of General Wright’s complicity with the enemy SUIT Program.  Standing with his back to the frame is a tall, dark-haired man.  He appears to be speaking to the General, but the audio can’t pick up what they’re saying over the sound of deploying helicopters and humvees.

A side window pops up to the side of the video.  The portrait of a well-groomed middle-aged man with dark hair glowers out of the new window.  November taps at a few buttons on the hidden control panel located on her left wrist.  Her voice sounds loud in the tent.

“Karl Baldric.  Mercenary commander of the SCAR forces and one of the most powerful and dangerous para-military agents in the world.  Proficient in five different forms of martial arts, expert marksman, and utterly ruthless.  We’ve been trying to kill or capture him for nearly three years now.”

Captain Graves looks grim, but there’s a spark of fire in his eyes.  His eyes narrow, and while it looks like he’s glaring at the pictures of General Wright and Karl Baldric, I can see that he’s planning his next move and the next three after it.  It only takes a moment, but his eyes have the hard glint of purpose in them when he turns his gaze to November and me.

“I’ve already recalled the SUIT teams out in the field.  With luck, they should be returning to base now.  If they were caught out by the SCARs or their SUIT wearers, well, we’ll just have to hope they have as good as luck as you two did.” Captain Graves looks at us both, but we keep our faces impassive.

Sighing, Captain Graves waves us out of his tent.  He knows we’re hiding something, but he trusts us enough to let us be.  November and I didn’t tell him about my special performance and November killed the data collected by my Suit while I was under the effects of the Overdrive Protocol.  She was slick about it too, and made it look like a system failure rather than outside tampering.  I don’t like hiding things from my CO, but being betrayed by one of our own generals made us mutually happy that I have an ace up my sleeve.  I’m just not sure if I’ll want to use it again.

The morning sun is peaking over the eastern horizon and a narrow band of waves is being bathed in gold light.  A light mist is forming along the edge of the beachhead, and all around the camp, Marines are packing up gear and weapons.  Captain Graves scrubbed the mission before we had ever gotten back to camp, and our evac is well on its way.  The information November gathered only served to increase the captain’s urge to get off this godforsaken island.

November and I check into the field infirmary.  This is one of the last places that’s to be packed up, under Captain Graves’ orders.  Wounded Marines having been streaming into the camp from the jungle, telling of how SCAR forces backed by men and women in business suits punished their respective squads.  November’s remaining men, Rockwell and Washington are already in the infirmary.  Rockwell is in field splints and is in line to be carted onto the evac transports as soon as they show up.  Washington is a mass of butterfly bandages but is otherwise in remarkably good shape.

A doctor is making his way over to November and I when a thin, middle-aged woman intercepts him.

“My staff and I will take care of these two, Doctor Messing.”  Doctor Messing opens his mouth as if to argue, takes a look at the woman’s clearance badge and promptly closes his mouth so hard I can hear his teeth click.  He makes his apology and flees back along the rows of hospital beds and patients.

Doctor Victoria Argo Schiller, head scientist behind the SUIT Program watches Doctor Messing flee and then turns an appraising eye on November and me.

“The facilities in this field hospital aren’t what you two require.  Follow me.”  Doctor Schiller walks past us and out of the tent.  We follow her, and as I catch November’s eye, I can see she’s just as shocked as I am.  I cautiously broach the topic.

“Doctor Schiller, ma’am.  I wasn’t aware that you’d be accompanying the ground forces during the field test.”

Doctor Schiller is making remarkable progress in her sensible flats, considering that she’s walking on beach sand.  She’s leading us to a small tent with a stylized circle stitched into its roof.  She addresses us as she ushers us into the tent.

“According to the log-in clocks back at the SUIT Program headquarters, I’m hard at work in our so-called secure facility.”

As November and I step inside, Schiller zips the tent flap closed behind us and clicks on a small device near the tent flap.  Inside the tent, I see a handful of very intricate, very expensive looking machines sitting on cargo crates and a few commandeered hospital beds.  Hooked up to the machines and sitting on the hospital beds are Foxtrot and Juliet, both of whom look remarkably good for people who were supposed to have died in plane crashes during the initial assault on the island.

“Foxtrot?  Juliet?!  I thought you were dead!” I blurt out.

Juliet breaks out into a grin that makes her tomboyish face absolutely glow with charm.  “What, you didn’t think a little thing like getting our plane shot out from underneath us would stop us, did you?”

November looks pensive, but I can’t help but match Juliet’s grin.  “I’m just glad you two are okay.  But why the charade?”

“I believe I can explain that, Echo,” Doctor Schiller says from behind me.

“It came to my attention that the SUIT Program had been compromised by someone with intimate knowledge of the program’s purpose.  One of my assistants brought it to my attention that data leaks had occurred during the program.  While the source wasn’t identifiable, it was obvious that someone had accessed and likely stolen our information on the SUIT Program.  That lead me to take some precautions, as I grew increasingly concerned that the lives of the SUIT Program participants were in danger.  I have since found that my fears were justified.”  Doctor Schiller looks pointedly at me.  “As were my precautions.”

A mix of emotions flood my veins.  On one hand, I feel admiration and sincere gratitude that this woman had the foresight to give me a tool to defend myself with.  On the other hand, I have an icy fear creep down my spine, now that she’s made it obvious she knew about my Suit’s Overdrive Protocol.

“Foxtrot and Juliet here are the other candidates of my side project.  Juliet seems as comfortable with her modified nanites as you, Echo.  Foxtrot on the other hand is a partial match, but as it stands his body ultimately rejects them in the end which builds up toxicity.  Fortunately, his delayed reaction to the nanites allows for him to use the Overdrive Protocol and return to base for a series of detox treatments.  I had these two declared dead so that they could keep an eye on the other Suits in the field.”

Juliet pipes up. “We weren’t able to save everyone, but we gave those SCAR Suits a nasty surprise wherever we showed up.  With our help, we were able to extract most of the Suits and get them safely back to the beachhead once the SCAR Suits showed up.”

November finally speaks up.  “Does Captain Graves know?”

A hint of a smile tugs at the left corner of Doctor Schiller’s lips.  “Captain Graves knows most of it, but there are certain aspects of the SUIT Program even he isn’t privy to.  Still, he’s a bright man, brighter than most at least.  I’m sure he’s figured at least some of it out.”

Schiller’s been working on November and I the entire time we’ve been talking.  November and I have at least a half dozen wires trailing from our Suits and into various machines around her tent.  I can notice a marked decrease in pain and fatigue, although I still feel like I’ve been through the wringer.  November has a bit more color in her face and she seems to be breathing easier as well.

“I’ve harnessed a series of quick-decay nanites to accelerate your healing and reset broken bones and mend damaged tissue.  Each treatment does in a handful of seconds what the human body could never accomplish on its own.  You’re not in fighting shape yet, but neither will you two have to live the rest of your lives as cripples.”  Doctor Schiller looks like she’s about to say something else, but as she opens her mouth, the air splits open with the sudden screech of an alarm.

I tear aside the tent flap and step out into the morning sunlight, welcomed by the sound of sudden violence.

November and I proceed to tear ourselves free of the cables connecting us to Doctor Schiller’s equipment.  Juliet and Foxtrot join us despite the doctor’s protests and we sprint across the beach, looking to join the fray.

 

The Alphabet Suit War Part 11: “Yes, Sir”

November’s looking up at me, from the awkward position of being cradled in one of my arms.  She’s not saying anything, she’s just looking.  And man, does she look pissed.

“Echo.  Stand down.”

The rush disappears, just as quick as it came.  I sag against November, as the artificial high evaporates from my veins.  I feel like my bones just went on vacation.  Still, as drained as I suddenly feel, November took a beating before I came to help her.  I have to make sure she’s okay.

“Blargh?” I hear myself ask.

“Echo, get off me.”

“Urgle,”  I say, as I accomplish the heroic feet of rolling to my side.  I watch November as she attempts to stand.

November wavers momentarily, but then slowly straightens.  She has a busted lip, several visible bruises including a massive shiner, and she’s favoring one side like she has a busted rib or two.  Altogether, she could be in worse shape.  My fears abated, I close my eyes and try to sink into the mud beneath my head. God, but I’m exhausted.  My stomach offers up a rather vocal roar.  And I would kill for a steak right now.  Bad line of thought.  I suddenly remember the vintage-suited woman whose neck I snapped moments ago.  Gray Suit went out in a bad way, but he kind of deserved it.  The flying woman was trying to kill November and I just as surely as Gray Suit, but killing women never sits well with me.  The memory of killing her seems remote, like I had watched a movie of someone else do it.  But the unmistakable sense of snapping bones and tendons; that feeling’s still locked in the palms of my hands.  Suddenly, I’m not so hungry anymore.

I sense more than see November’s shadow pass over me.  She’s letting me rest for now.  I’m dimly aware of her searching the wreckage of the APC for surviving members of her squad.  She comes back with three, only one of which can still stand.  The second’s legs are broken, crushed by some twisted section of the ruined APC.  The third is riddled with shrapnel.  He’s conscious, but that’s probably not much comfort for him right now.  The rest of November’s squad is strewn about the dirt road.  In the pre-dawn light, it’s a macabre scene and the flies and carrion insects are already showing up for an early morning snack.  Yeah, I’m definitely not that hungry.

I’m passing in and out of consciousness.

November’s walking past me again.

The standing Marine is making a makeshift travois out of tree branches, of which there are now plenty to choose from.

November’s doing something to Gray Suit’s body.  I try to turn my head to watch her, but things go gray as I do.

November’s helping the third Marine get the broken-legged Marine onto the travois.  The standing Marine is named Washington, and the Marine on the travois is named Rockwell.   The third Marine died at some point while I blacked out.  November’s walking over to me, and I have the nagging suspicion that she’s going to want me to do something.

“Echo.”

“Yes sir.”

“Get up.”

“Yes sir.”

I get up, with a helping hand from Washington.  He hands me the machine gun I c0mmandeered from that SCAR humvee a lifetime ago.  November somehow found my pistol and hands that back to me as well.  I reload the pistol with a spare magazine and tuck it back into its holster.  There’s a quiet click as it settles into place.

All three of them are looking at me.  They’re wearing near-identical expressions, like they’ve just come across a poisonous snake and aren’t sure if they should kill it or leave it alone.  November is the first to break the silence.

“Change of plans.  We have to get Private Rockwell back to an infirmary.  Echo, you have point.”

Always such a joy to have a purpose.  I take point, albeit at a much slower pace than last time.  As I start to amble down the road, November clicks on to our private channel.”

“Echo, I’ve re-established contact with Captain Graves.  I didn’t get to completely analyze the Suit on the woman, but I can guess that it included a communication jamming array.  More importantly, we have to get the information I pulled from the dead guy back to Graves.”

November seems to run out of words, but then her voice crackles quietly in my ear, so quiet that I have to strain to hear her.

“Echo.  Thank you.  I don’t know what you did, or how you did it, but I can see that it cost you something.  Thanks for saving me and my men.”

It’s tall praise from that woman.

“Yes, sir.” I hear myself reply.

End Part 11.

 

The Alphabet Suit War Part 10: “Calm”

The heads up display shuts down.

The world goes dark.

Living fire floods my veins.  I am alive with the blood of Apollo, the blood of the sun god rushing through my weary body.  No force can hope to stand against me.  No force will dare.  If only I could just…

…Open my eyes.

The world is beautiful.  Every leaf is ablaze, the earth beneath my feet shines like liquid gold.  A falling leaf is caught on the wind, but it falls in slow motion, shining like the feather of a phoenix.

I walk out calmly and pluck the leaf from the air.  It disintegrates at my touch.  Oh, I see.  The world’s not moving slowly, I’m leaving the world behind with my newfound speed.  Something as fragile as a leaf would not respond well to my current level of momentum.

I shrug, as leaves don’t really matter.  I notice that the pain in my shoulder is gone.  Looking over, I see that the wound is knitting itself back together and my Suit is producing metal latticework to bridge the hole in my armor.  How nice.

A metal cylinder floats past my face.  It looks like a small, rocket-propelled grenade.  As I watch, it smashes into the ground a few feet away and proceeds to explode.  I suppose I ought to dodge that.  My leap carries my lazily away from the explosion.  Debris and shrapnel lick at the heels of my feet, and the shockwave from the explosion ruffles my hair.

I’m in the air and someone’s in the air with me.  She’s kind of pretty, in a sort of severe way.  Prettier than November, at least.  She’s wearing a sort of retro-style suit.  It looks very nice on her.  Protruding from the back of her suit is a set of complicated looking wings.  Thrusters protrude from the wings at regular intervals, and the pretty flying woman is pointing a grenade launcher at my face.  That seems really funny for some reason, so I laugh.  A flash of anger passes over the pretty woman’s face, and she pulls the trigger.

The thrusters on my Suit kick in and I do an aerial pirouette, spinning around the grenade.  The pirouette finishes and I’m close enough to smell the flying woman.  She smells nice.  A mix of sweat, metal, and an underlying stink of fear.  That seems strange.  I wouldn’t be afraid if I had wings.  Maybe she’s afraid of flying.  If so, it seems silly that she’s so far up in the air.  I don’t like that she’s scared.  It’s not fair to her.  I reach out to her and take her head in my hands. Her eyes widen in surprise at the sound of her neck snapping.

We crash to the ground, but it doesn’t hurt.  It’s probably because I land on top of the pretty woman’s body.  Her sightless eyes stare up at me over her shoulder blade.  An involuntary shudder runs through me, and I hear a voice that sounds remarkably like my own screaming inside of my own head.  It’s okay though.  Everything’s fine, and my calm returns.

I turn to find Gray Suit about ten yards behind me.  He’s backing away from me.  He has November’s limp body wrapped up in his suit-tentacles.  One of the tentacles has produced a nasty looking blade, and he’s holding this up against November’s throat.  He’s talking to me, but I can’t make out the words over the sound of liquid gold rushing in my veins.  His mouth is opening and closing with no purpose.  It looks really funny.  I take a step toward him.  He takes a stumbling step backwards.

A thin red line appears on November’s neck, but I suddenly find my hands on Gray Suit.  The tentacle-blade snaps off easily and I proceed to stab Gray Suit in the eyes.  He opens his mouth to scream, so I put the blade in his mouth.  The tentacles around November go slack.  I catch her as she falls.

The world’s speeding up now.  The falling leaves are returning to a normal speed.  November looks beautiful wrapped in golden light.  I wipe away the thin line of blood on her neck and confirm that the cut’s on the surface only, that she should be okay.  I’m relieved.  I want to smash her pretty, sleeping face in.

With my left arm supporting her, I draw back my right arm.  My right hand clenches into a fist.  My head’s buzzing with the sound of my screaming.  I shake my head to clear it.  My arm pulls back a little further, the knuckles in my hand pop from clenching so hard.  I look at my right hand.  Why am I looking at my right hand?  November’s pretty, smashable face is the other way.  The buzzing in my head grows louder.  I look back at November, to sight in on my target.  The buzzing stops.

End Part 10.